


Addiction

by flowersforgraves



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 19:39:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12239367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves





	Addiction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [This](https://archiveofourown.org/users/This/gifts).



It’s almost like an addiction. Not that Malcolm’s really familiar with addiction first hand - he doesn’t generally like the taste of alcohol, he doesn’t smoke, he’s never relied on stimulants to do his job - but he knows enough to know that he shouldn’t be feeling like this.

He didn’t tell anyone what happened to him on his final mission for Section 31. He just marked it down in his report as “torture” and went back to doing his job like he normally would, except… 

Except.

Except he wakes up with nightmares of their hands on him, except he flinches every time someone calls him Mal, except he hates himself more and more, because he’d been aroused, he’d orgasmed, he has no right to call it rape. He’d been instructed to do whatever he had to, and so he’d let them use him, use his body, and it didn’t matter that he wanted to die, wanted them to ignore what he said, wanted them to treat him roughly so he’d have some excuse to feel like this.

He takes a deep breath and knocks on Travis’ door.

Travis lets him in, and immediately they’re kissing, mouths moving over each other. Malcolm escalates it, pulling Travis’ hips against his, grinding against his partner. Travis responds, helping Malcolm out of his uniform and then stripping off his own.

“Fuck me,” Malcolm says breathlessly, “please, I want you to fuck me.” That’s… not exactly true. It’s more like he wants Travis to fuck him so that he can force a flashback, force himself to confront the things that had been done to him, the things he’d let them do.

Travis’ hands drop down to Malcolm’s ass, squeezing. “Yeah,” Travis says, “let’s get you out of these clothes.”

Malcolm strips out of his uniform, watching as Travis does the same, and then pulls the helmsman in for another searing kiss. Travis pushes him backwards, against the bed, and Malcolm lets himself fall. “Please,” he says again. 

“Yeah,” Travis repeats, “yeah, Mal, I got you.”

Travis pushes his knees apart and kisses the inside of his thigh tenderly. It doesn’t snap Malcolm out of this reckless dangerous self harming mindset, but it comes close. Malcolm presses his legs farther apart and tips his head back as Travis goes down on him.

Several moments later Travis pulls back, rubs his thumb over Malcolm’s clit once more, and then squeezes lube onto his fingers. Malcolm makes a quiet noise, suppresses it, and shuts his eyes against threatening tears.

“I’ve got you,” Travis says softly, and slides a finger into Malcolm’s ass.

Slowly he works Malcolm open, fingers moving in and out. Malcolm grips the bedsheets, and when Travis slides into him up to the hilt, he feels the dam break and he gets swept away by sense memory.

_They’ve got him pinned, on his back, arms wide. He’s got his knees spread and pulled up close to his chest, giving his ~~assailant~~ partner easy access. There are tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, partially from overstimulation, and partially from the knowledge that his body will never feel like his own again. _

_His ~~assailant~~ partner presses a kiss to his mouth, and he forces himself to respond. He’s gotten better at that by now, after a week of nights like these. He can beg and plead for his ~~assailant~~ partner to fuck him, no matter how used and broken he feels. _

_“Please,” he says, “please fuck me, I’ll be good for you, I promise,” and he can hear his voice break on the last word. He tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care any more, doesn’t give a shit about the fact that he’s no longer in control of his own body, doesn’t mind that he’s being used for sexual pleasure with no return for himself._

_His ~~assailant~~ partner tenses, comes, and he feels so filthy, dirty and disgusting, like he’ll never be clean again. He thinks about his sister, about how she’d used to pet his hair to help him come down from a panic attack. He craves that now, wants so badly to be held by someone he loves and trusts, but he suppresses it viciously._

Malcolm is crying. He can hear Travis panicking in the background, but all he’s able to do is curl up tighter. His flashbacks haven’t been this bad before, so he’s been able to hide them, but this time he can’t, he can’t control it, can’t control himself, and he’s already kicking himself for being so weak.

Travis covers him with a blanket.

He’s not sure how long he’s lying there, sobbing, but when he finally calms down enough to roll over and open his eyes, Travis is there, fully dressed, with his back to Malcolm. “Travis?” he asks tentatively, voice hoarse.

Travis turns. “Hey, Malcolm,” he says quietly. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Malcolm says, feeling a little lightheaded as he sits up. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it. Do you wanna, you know, talk about it?” Travis rubs a hand over his hair awkwardly.

“Not really,” Malcolm admits. 

Travis sits down on the bed next to him. “Oh -- is this okay?”

“Yes,” Malcolm confirms, and scoots a little closer to Travis. “I think I was sexually assaulted,” he confesses.

“Malcolm…”

“I know, I know,” he says. “I should have gone to the authorities when it happened. But I was scared. I thought --” he hesitates. “I thought I could handle it. But since then, when we’ve been having sex… I just keep thinking about it.”

“Shit,” Travis says. “So if I understand this right, you’ve been feeling like this for a while, but you’ve been having flashbacks every time we have sex?”

“Essentially,” Malcolm says, not wanting to explain further.

“Shit,” he repeats. “Malcolm… you can’t keep doing this to yourself. I won’t be part of you using this to hurt yourself.”

“Travis,” Malcolm starts, then pauses. “Look,” he says, “all the proof I have of what happened is my flashbacks. I need to force them to happen, because otherwise what happened wasn’t real.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you need better coping mechanisms,” Travis says. “And I know I sound like a psych textbook, but it’s true. You can’t keep hurting yourself and not expect things to get worse.”

Malcolm leans into Travis’ side. “I’m tired, Trav,” he says. “I can’t talk about this with anyone. It was a classified mission, I shouldn’t even have told you this much. I need to cope with it somehow, and this is the only thing that’s working.”

“Not any more,” Travis says. “And just so you know, it really hurts that you think I’d be okay with you using me to hurt yourself.”

Malcolm flinches. “I didn’t --”

“No, listen to me. I’m your friend, Malcolm, as well as your partner. I know you can’t always tell me everything, I know you don’t always want to tell me everything. But if you keep doing things that purposely hurt yourself, I’m not sure I can trust you to tell me when you’re hurting.”

Travis takes a deep breath. “I can’t be your counselor. I can’t be your therapist. I don’t have the skills to do that, no matter how much I want to make you stop hurting. You need to talk to someone, let them know what’s going on.”

“Travis,” Malcolm says helplessly, “I _can’t_. I’m not _allowed_ to hurt. I can’t, I have to be useful, or I don’t know what will happen. I, I can’t say anything else, I can’t break any more secrets.”

Travis wraps his arms around him and says nothing more.


End file.
